


The Future Comes One Day at a Time

by Adanska



Series: attended by a bodyguard of lies [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers: Autocracy, Transformers: More than Meets the Eye
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gen, Humanformers, Ladyformers, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adanska/pseuds/Adanska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four million years of war and strife brings about many changes, but in the end, Rodimus is still the same girl who blew up a city to try to take down a monster (and killed thousands for nothing).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

After the fall of Nyon, nothing changes. The war is an open at least, but it’s a war her and hers had been fighting for so many meta-cycles it was hard to feel anything other than bitter satisfaction over the intellectual and entertainment classes finally getting dragged in. Let them know what it felt like to bury your lover, her sister, your best friend, and the little girl down the hall from you--let them experience it all in a night, and still, their loss couldn’t compare.

“You may be a little biased about this,” Slinger said, her scarred face twisting with amusement.

She allowed that it probably was, and shot the private police officer trying to sneak up on them dead between the eyes. “I think we earned bitterness, don’t you think?”

“[I think you two need to _shut up_ and get the _fuck out of my way_ so I can _fucking snipe some fuckers_.]”

“Well,” Hot Rod said, face in the grit, ears ringing with shells and screams. “At least we’ve got tiny angry snipers on our side.”

“[Shut it, Roddy,]” Wheelie snarled, lying down suppressing fire until the last of the squad still able slunk from the field. “Alright, sound off--” Hot Rod started before a hand grabbed her and dragged her off to the tunnels, babbling about ‘cascading failures’ and ‘dire straits’; looking back over her shoulder, she saw Slinger pick up where she’d left off, tiredly taking stock and taking notes. Catching her eye, Hot Rod mouthed ‘Thank you’ as she slid below.

They were still, largely, nominally unaffiliated, but with every micro-cycle that changed. Some of her people listened to the Decepticons and their passionate, charismatic leader, who called for a sea of blood to bring about a sea of change; some listened to the new but ever growing subsect of the Autocracy, those ‘Autobots’ desperate to claim back a bloody and oppressive title led at the core by that police officer and her squad, who preached peaceful transition and patience. Some, like her, like Slinger and Muckraker and Gearbrake and so many others, remembered the double-crossings that hit them one after another, and listened to no one at all.

“I’m going.” Wheelie looked so much like her dead sister in the flickering tunnel light, determination carving harsh lines in her sunny face.

“Don’t expect me to stop you,” Hot Rod said, spitting as she turned back to the water purifier, the whole of her being focused on _this_ problem, on _this_ task, ignoring the seventeen other purifiers dead or failing in this block alone, ignoring the man awaiting execution for killing his potentially Decepticon-siding wife and brother, ignoring the fact that even now there just wasn’t ever enough food and people were still starving always starving--

A small hand alighted against her shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” Wheelie said, sounding almost as serious as her poor little sister, almost as old as Hot Rod figured her to be. “But I _have_ to.”

‘ _I know,_ ’ Hot Rod wanted to say.

‘ _I don’t blame you._ ’

‘ _I wish I could cut and run, too_.’

‘ _I don’t think I’m going to be able to stay, either._ ’

“Get out,” she ordered, voice harsh; she listened to the footsteps until there was nothing left to hear but the dying sighs of the machinery around her. “That’s seven we’ve lost this week, and it’s not even Torus-day.”

“Eleven, if you count Hot-Wing, Blue-Smoke, Kilo, and ‘Cracker,” Slinger corrected, sighing as she sat against the wall at Hot Rod’s side. “I set Exa and Peta on fixing the purifiers in A and F; hopefully, that’ll hold ‘til we can get at the rest. Hot-Wing’s trying to call for representation; I sent a message to Xaaron off with Wheelie so hopefully we’ll get a response soon but until then that gives us another mouth to feed so...”

“Yeah.” Grunting, Hot Rod shook off the arcing burn and dove back in, twisting the wires back together in quick succession and slamming the casing shut. “Okay. One down, sixteen left to go.” Getting up and stretching, she took in Slinger’s taunt features and slumped. “What else.”

“We got an invitation to the ‘First Inaugural Meeting of the Grand Convocation’,” Slinger spat, holding up the Pad. “According to the ‘Autobots’, the war’s over and now we need to decide what to do next.”

Hot Rod stared at the Pad, mind blank. Laughter burbled out of her, wild and uncontrolled. “Really?” she demanded, arms flung wide. “Well shit, no one told us! Let’s just pack it in, girls and boys, the Autobots say the war’s over!” She kept laughing even as Slinger grabbed her, narrow hands digging tight on sinew and bone, her greasy hair spilling over Slinger’s shoulder like blood. “God, they aren’t any better than the rest, are they,” she rasped, skin and anger burning too hot and still, Slinger held on.

“It’s alright,” she soothed, her fingers light as birds along her neck, and Hot Rod strove for calm. “It’s three deci-cycles away. We got time.”

Hot Rod allowed herself to stand there for a moment more, until she was the same temperature as the dark skin against her face. “Primus,” she said, wiping at her cheeks with the back of a hand as she pulled back. “What would I do without you, Slinger?”

Slinger smiled at her. “Probably just fine,” she said quietly. “Now come on; I’ll help you with the next purifier.”

* * *

“Are you sure?” Slinger pulled at her collar, her eyes wide above skeletal cheeks. “I mean, you’re my--I’ve always listened to you, you’re the leader, it should be you in there.”

Hot Rod shook her head, matted red hair slapping her equally starved bronze cheeks. “I’m not the leader, Slinger; I’m just the ‘Tronian who blew up an entire Torus-City. Besides,” she said, flashing a tight smile, “I listen to you like, half the time, so if anyone has a claim to leadership here, it might as well be you. You’re less liable to get all hot and bothered the first time one of those pretentious bastards looks down their nose at you.” Lightly fixing Slinger’s collar, her smile softened. “You’ll be great in there, girl,” she said, patting her chest. “Knock ‘em dead, yeah?”

With one last look, Slinger pulled away, walking into the chamber with her spine straight and her head held high. Hot Rod watched her until the doors closed, and then turned away.

“Slipping out after making your friend take the heat? That’s cold.”

Pausing, Hot Rod looked at the only other woman standing in the hall, starved and lean with a Decepticon badge bleeding fresh on her arm and angled eyes glassy and gleaming. “What the fuck business is it of yours, circuit-chaser,” she sneered, flames stirring beneath her skin.

The woman laughed, tucking her lanky and greasy black hair behind a pierced and burned ear. “None,” she admitted freely, all teeth like a turbo-fox as it lunged for a kill. “‘M just sayin’, it’s cold.”

“It’s better if they don’t see me, I’ll only hurt our cause in the long run. Not that I have to defend myself to _you_ ,” she added, spitting at the woman’s feet and just missing her scuffed and battered boots.

“And whose cause is that, spitfire?” The woman asked, in her space and in her face before Hot Rod even realised she’d left the wall, her voice low and rasping in her ear. “Who are you concerned with, really. Because somehow, I feel like the only cause you give a damn about is your own.”

Snarling, Hot Rod shoved her back. “Fuck you,” she spat, ozone on her tongue and crackling in the air. “I did what I had to, I always do what I have to, I work myself to the bone and it’ll never be enough and there’s nothing I can to to make it enough and, well, fuck you for thinking anything else, you, you, judgemental _prick_.

“And my name isn’t ‘Spitfire’,” she snarled, raising a flaming fist just under the woman’s cold blue eyes. “It’s Hot Rod. Remember it.”

She was half-way down the hall before she heard a laugh follow her. “Will do, ‘Hot Rod’,” the woman stressed, mocking and arrogant. “I’m Deadlock, but I don’t care if you remember it or not; you’ll likely be dead before the year’s out anyhow.”

Turning, she lobbed a thick handful of flame at the woman (‘Deadlock’, and oh, she would fucking remember that out of _spite_ ) and ran with a roaring snarl on her heels and bullets chewing up the walls, sliding through the gap in the doors and she was gone, gone, gone, all of Cybertron before her and she could nearly _choke_ on it, her chest heaving under the smoky sky and the strangled sunlight.

‘ _’M just saying, it’s cold._ ’

 _Well fuck you too, junkie scum_. Hands in her pockets, Hot Rod started walking, the tended grass giving way to rubble and concrete under her boots soon enough.

Cycles later, Slinger came back to find her in her bed, snoring slightly. Slumping against the door in relief, Slinger took in the fresh burns on her arms, the wet patch beneath her somewhat cleaner hair and the circles threatening to take over her whole face, and wondered how much longer they could keep going. Hot Rod slept through her getting ready for bed, slept through the slew of phone calls and emails she sent out before she could even think of taking a rest, slept through the sound of the couple next door fucking hard enough to make the desk rattle on it’s uneven legs, but she woke up when Slinger pulled the sheets back, the room dark except for the constellation of power lights and status symbols blinking stand-by.

“Slinger?”

“Shh, it’s just me.” Hot Rod made room for her easily, pliable with exhaustion.

“How’d it go?”

Slinger shushed her again, her own eyes too heavy to stay open. “I’ll tell you in the morning,” she promised, and fell asleep, Hot Rod curled around her and keeping her warm, body and spark.


	2. Chapter 2

“What are the numbers?” Hot Rod asked, braiding her hair as she entered the command center. Above them, the ceiling rumbled, concrete and brick flaking down like rain; no one flinched.

“The southern tunnels collapsed at 0200,” Muckraker reported, her headscarf caked in dust and blood. Hot Rod couldn’t see a hint of the flowing green and gold patterns she thought she could remember; it’d been ages since they’ve had water to waste on something as unessential as wash water. Realising she was drifting, she shook her head, forcing herself to focus. A millicycle-and-a-half of sleep was going to have to do. “Did anyone get out? How many injured, how many dead, and how many able bodies do we have to hold off whoever’s fighting up there so the rest can evacuate?”

“As of right now, we’ve completely lost everything and everyone in tunnels Lambda through Rho,” Muckraker reported, hand leaving a streak of dusty blood behind as she swiped under her eye. “We might still have people alive down there, but we’ve got no way to get to them. Other than that, it’s an absolute mess down there; when I left, triage was only just getting people set up. I have no idea if we’ll have any completely uninjured and abled, but my best guess right now is--”

“Whatever it is, it’s not going to be enough.” Slinger came running in and slammed her pad down, throwing up projection after projection that made Hot Rod’s spark stutter in her chest. “We got the main forces for the Autobots and Decepticons fighting right above our heads, and even if we’re at a hundred percent, they’d still outnumber us a hundred and twenty to one _per side_.”

“Mortilus pass over our sparks,” Hot Rod breathed, braid slipping from her numb fingers, red strands unravelling. “Please tell me the tunnels in Protihex are ready.”

Gearbrake and Slinger shook their heads. “They aren’t, but they’ll have to do,” Slinger said, pulling up the tiny map of habitable space. “We’ll go in waves, put all the wounded and as much tech we can easily move in the vehicles and move the rest on foot. Stress that we can always come back later for anything we leave behind, tell everyone they can only bring what they can carry, with an emphasis on what the community will need.” More data, probability, supplies, and personnel. “We’ll do a rolling guard above ground, have everyone else take the tunnels.”

“Are you insane?” Muckraker shouted. “We send people through the tunnels, they’ll die!”

“If we send them above, they’ll die!” Slinger slammed her fist down, sending a shudder through their equipment. “We’ll let people choose their way, it’s the best we can offer.”

Muckraker whirled on Hot Rod. “And you? Are you okay with this, this sham of a plan?”

Tieing off her braid, Hot Rod stared into Muckraker’s yellow optics. “We’re stuck between lava and the volcano,” she said quietly, aware of everyone’s eyes on her. “Either way, we’re going to burn, but hopefully we can get the worst out before we do. ‘Raker, you go with the first wave; South tunnels were your people, and I’d rather have you on hand to deal with the injuries and set up, you’re the only one us who’s got any sort of medic training pre-war. Slinger, call up Exa and Vox, I want them on the second and third wave, respectively; I trust them to get everyone across without taking too many stupid risks, and you can tell them I said that. Everyone else able to hold a gun and shoot, I want them here to hold them off as long as possible.”

“And just who do you think will volunteer for that duty?” Muckraker demanded. “Everyone who stays behind’s only going to be signing a contract with Mortilus.”

“No,” Slinger said quietly. Hot Rod looked up to meet her eyes, not a coward, not now. “Just the person who hits the switch.”

“Well,” Muckraker said finally, folding in on herself. “Primus protects you, and may we meet again when all are one.”

“Til all are one,” they chimed together. Muckraker and Gearbrake filed out; as she left Gearbrake touched Slinger shoulder. “I’ll get Exa and Vox,” she rumbled. “You two take what time you can.”

And then they were alone.

“Well,” Hot Rod said, forcing a bit of pep into her voice and a smile on her face. “Looks like this is it. All told, we had a good run of it, don’t you think?”

Slinger forced a smile, too, one that wavered on her face as her eyes watered. “I want you to know that I would have stayed at your side for a thousand centuries more,” she said quietly, “but no matter how it ends today, I wouldn’t trade the last eleventy years for anything.”

“Not even food or shelter or all the shanix in Iacon?” Hot Rod teased, trying to stomp out the tremble lurking in her throat before it tangled with her words.

“Not even for all the shanix in Iacon,” Slinger whispered, cupping Hot Rod’s face in her gentle hands; Hot Rod wrapped her scarred and rough hands around her thin wrists, held on tight and counted the pulse thrumming beneath her fingers. As Slinger leaned down, she tilted her head up, forehead pressed to forehead, Slinger’s thumbs brushing away Hot Rod’s tears even as her own flowed down her face unchecked.

Feeling their time slipping away, Hot Rod lifted her head back and brushed their lips together, as sweet as she could but nowhere as sweet as Slinger deserved. “May I find you again in the Allspark,” she prayed, knowing she needed to step away, but she couldn’t, she just couldn’t, unable to break their last moment together.

“Til All Are One,” Slinger vowed, and as always, did what Hot Rod couldn’t. Stepping back, she pulled away, step by step until they were too far apart to go back.

Scrubbing her face, Hot Rod swallowed, hard. “I love you,” she said, because too late was better than never.

Slinger crumpled against the table. “I love you, too,” she whispered, wrecked.

Hot Rod left before she could do any more damage, the evacuation sirens just starting to scream.

* * *

Nyon was in flames again, and Hot Rod wasn’t sure if she could muster any energy to care. “Go go go!” she roared, shoving a small ‘Tronian up out of the trenches even as she laid down a spray of cover. She’d been fighting for what felt like days, trying desperately to get as many people out and to the Protihex tunnels alive as possible. Muckraker had screamed as she’d gone down, whole transport swallowed as the ground opened up beneath them. Vox and Exa’s groups had made it, as had Flip’s and Peta’s and Growler’s, but they were the only ones; or at least, the only ones to check in. Slinger would’ve looked on the positive side, but Slinger had disappeared only microcycles into the fighting, a gasp being the last thing transmitted over the wire before--nothing.

But Hot Rod wasn’t thinking about that. “Go,” she ordered Gearbrake as she dropped her empty gun, the only two left as the flames crawled higher. “I’ll hold them off.”

Gearbrake hesitated, blood glistening on her dark skin and off her clenched jaw, but eventually, she left, a nod the last sign of respect she’d give, their goodbyes said and done.

And Hot Rod was alone. Waiting as long as she could for any scragglers to clear the blast zone, she spun and danced as the hordes of Autobots and Decepticons surged around her like the tides, tearing them apart as they’d torn her and her people and their lives to pieces. Surrounded, bleeding, and broken, Hot Rod hit the switch and dove for cover, her world exploding into white and flame and darkness.

“Hey!” Someone crashed into the trench she was baking in some time later, rubble crackling and hissing in a shifting wave down the slope. “Hey! Spitfire Flame-Hand lady! The fuck you think you’re doin’?” A hand hit her face, lightly at first, then harder, and harder.

Exhausted, _beyond_ exhausted, burnt out and empty with nothing left, Hot Rod forced her eyes open, fixing a dull stare at the woman in the ditch with her. “What do you think I’m doing?” she mumbled, head tilting back. “Everything’s gone to pieces, and I couldn’t stop it.”

“So, what, that means you’re just gonna lay back and die?!”

She smiled, taunt skin pulling so unpleasantly. “Yep,” she said, lips smacking over the word. “That’s the idea. Mebe have better luck the next time ‘round.”

“Your ideas suck.” Hands scooped under her arms, throwing her over a bony shoulder like a fucking sack and the world swam as she was carried out of the ditch. “Primus, kid,” the woman muttered, and she found herself chuckling.

“Pretty sure I’m at least a few years older than you, ‘chaser.”

“Ah,” the woman ( _Deadlock, with the bleeding brand and the turbo-fox grin_ ) laughed, delighted. “So you do remember me! I’m impressed, spitfire.” Back at street level, she picked up speed, serpentining through the desolate and collapsing streets. “Why are you doing this?” Hot Rod asked, curious beneath the numbness. “Thought you’d just plug me with bullets and go on your way.”

Deadlock sneered. “You slag head neutrals just don’t get it; we’re fighting _for you_ ,” she said, the rhetoric burning passionately from her lips. “For all the construction-grades and undesirables, so that we could all have a life that we choose!”

“While following a leader who only cares about the ‘cause’ as long as she’s the only one standing? ‘Peace through tyranny?” she demanded, incredulous, her attention pulled despite itself. “You’d as us to exchange one tyrant for another!”

“Yeah, but she’s the tyrant who lets me put some bullets in some Autobot brains.” Deadlock said, blatantly dodging the debate before Hot Rod could really get anywhere. _Hah. I’m right, and you know it._

Coming up on the Autobot entrenchment, Deadlock slowed, creeping along the hastily thrown up and reinforced buildings. Taking the hint, Hot Rod stayed quiet, trying not to throw up on Deadlock’s ass as the world kept spinning and spinning.

Stopping, Deadlock knocked a staccato pattern on one of the doors. “Hey, old-timer!” she hissed, blue eyes darting about, free hand on a gun. “Open up, willya?” Pushing the door open, she stopped, gun up and primed before Hot Rod heard the warning whine of another weapon priming across the room.

“Primus, kid,” groused a raspy voice, the whine cutting off. “You keep pulling shit like this, and someone’ll wind up plugging you one of these days.”

Holstering her own gun, Deadlock moved a few juddering steps and gently slung Hot Rod onto what felt like an autopsy table. “I knocked.”

“And I was fucking sleeping.” The grousing woman stumbled out of her cot, sliding a pair of glasses on as she moved in to inspect Hot Rod with bleary eyes. “A neutral?”

“She needs help.”

The older woman scowled. “Yes, I can see that,” she snapped, “what with the third degree burns and multiple contusions all over her body. My point being ‘Why is she _here_?’” Her hands were gentle as they checked several of the worst wounds.

“The tunnels collapsed as we were fighting on top of them; she held the line for the rest of her people and the civilians to evacuate before hitting the self destruct.”

Hot Rod jerked. “How the fuck did you know that?” she demanded, forcing herself up onto her elbows, teeth bared more from the anger than the pain.

Deadlock looked down at her. “It was obvious.” She turned back to the doc. “Regardless, her people are gone, she needs help, and you’re the only medic I know who’ll help her; the rest of _your_ lot are ‘too good’ to waste time on civilians, and, well.” She looked away, her gaze dragging down. “I’ve started hearing rumours about how it might not be too save to trust some of mine, either.”

“Fighting for us, eh?” Hot Rod snarked; she hissed as the Doc prodded against her shoulder and back.

Deadlock smiled, wry. “Exactly. Take care of her, Doc.”

Slumping back on the slab, Hot Rod stared up at the whirling and tilting grotty ceiling above her, listening as the Doc caught Deadlock’s arm and the two women had some sort of quiet tiff by the door.

Finally, one of the voices was loud enough to hear. “You could do so much better,” the Doc said, worn out and weary as though she’d said it a million times before.

“I am doing better,” Deadlock said. “Even if you don’t see it. But that’s okay; I don’t need you too.” Hot Rod glanced over just in time to see the most tired, bitter, and _briliant_ smile twist Deadlock’s face and sear itself into her memory.

“So what is she,” she asked, after the doctor had come back, after Deadlock had left, her eyes oh-so carefully locked on the spinning ceiling above her. Fascinating water damage. “Your daughter?”

“No,” the Doc said softly, gloves snapping on. “Just a kid I once knew. Now, hold still; this is going to sting like a bitch.”

“Thanks for the honesty,” Hot Rod said, and tried not to scream before the painkillers kicked in and for the second time that day her world went black.

* * *

Deadlock slunk back through the Autobot patrols strung out and wired, jumping at every shift of rubble, at every snippet of sound on the wind.

A city away, she let herself relax, slipping down into a still smouldering trench. All she could smell was the stench of burning flesh and the queer scent of burning ozone; all she could see was the girl laying there, recognisable only by her red hair, face and body so very charred and bloody; all she could feel was the way her bones had seemed to crumple under her skin, no different than a sack of gravel over her shoulder.

She covered her face and dug her fingers into her eyes until the backs of her lids bloomed kaleidoscopes of colour.

“There you are,” someone said after a time, words a warning before a hand touched her shoulder; she jumped anyway, wound like a filed down firing pin, but she didn’t shoot. “Hey, now.”

“Sorry.” Lowering her hands, Deadlock blinked away the sparks dominating her vision until the blur in front of her resolved into a lanky woman.

Caltrop smiled at her. “Least you didn’t shoot me this time,” she said easily, shifting to sit next to her in the ditch, bangles singing as she moved, soothing, their familiarity coaxing the last of the tension from Deadlock’s brittle shoulders.

Rolling her head, she mock-glared at her friend. “I was goin’ through withdrawal,” she groused. “Are ya really gonna keep holdin’ that over m’head for the rest of our lives?”

Instead of answering, Caltrop dug out a ration from her rucksack and held it out, her black hands so dirty she almost looked white. “I found some food in the rubble,” she said, yellow eyes almost piercing with worry. “I know you haven’t been eating lately.”

“I eat,” Deadlock protested, pretending she didn’t see Caltrop shaking the packet closer and closer with every second she didn’t take it.

“Not enough,” Caltrop scolded. “You’re not on uppers any more, you can’t keep running on nothing and expect your body to keep going.”

When she started poking her in the face, Deadlock finally took the food. “I know,” she said quietly, picking at the thick plastic packaging. “I jus’...haven’t been hungry.”

“You still need to eat.” Used to her figits, Caltrop took the package back, flip knife singing in the air before gutting the coating as easily as butter. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Tearing in, she barely tasted the dried and compressed food, jaw and throat working but her mind leagues away.

“Hey.” Caltrop bounced into her shoulder. “What’s got you so far inside.”

Deadlock swallowed the mouthful in her mouth, as cloying as the dust in the air. “D’you ‘member that girl I told you about? The one from the Summit?”

“...the one who melted your boots to the ground?” Caltrop asked, slow and unsure, reaching back for the memory.

She laughed, a quick burst of sound. “Yeah. That one. Found her out here today. She ran the neutrals ‘round here.” Her fingers were picking at the wrappers in her hands, shredding them; forcing them still, she took another bite of the bar. “She’s the one who made the fireball that took out Crier’s whole squad. She blew herself up to buy her people more time.”

“Primus.” Caltrop made the Hand, her lips pressed thin and her jaw line so tight. “Deadlock, I’m so sorry.”

Another bite. “She was still alive.” A laugh ripped itself from her chest, ugly and dark. “She thought I was just going to...to shoot her, and just go on my way.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because she’s the kind of people we fightin’ for. We kill ‘em like that, we no better than the bastards what used to run this place.”

Shoving the last bit of the bar into her mouth, Deadlock pocketed the other bar and candy and stood up. “Let’s go ‘fore Lockdown fuckin’ scalps us or sommin’.”

“Hey.” Caltrop grabbed her wrist, arresting her movement with such a light touch. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

‘ _She’s not dead,_ ’ she started to say, the girl’s innocent ‘who-me-I-weren’t-dropping-no-eaves’ face blanking out the way she’d looked in the ditch, still as the dead baking around her. She opened her mouth, closed it.

Caltrop squeezed her wrist tightly, then used her to pull herself upright. “You’ll see her again,” she said, taking the moment to retie her hair so that most of her loose dreads were held back. Glancing over, she took the tie from her mouth. “In the All Spark,” she clarified, only a few small uneven dreads left to frame her face.

“...Yeah.” Tucking her hands in her pockets, Deadlock let Caltrop lead them back towards the camp. ‘ _I’ll see you again, spitfire. Count on it._ ’


	3. Chapter 3

The brand still didn’t feel like it sat right, on her skin or on her sleeve, but if there was anything being the defacto leader of a bunch of scared, desperate people had taught her, it was that you could get anywhere as long as you faked it. Not that it took much on Ephighra.

“Another report of suspicious activity around the main camp.”

Pulling off her own headset, Hot Rod pressed her face into her hands. “That’s, what,” she asked Gearbrake, exhaustion and frustration dripping from every word. “Seven now?”

“Thereabouts,” Gearbrake agreed, scarred and chewed hand pressing one headphone tighter. “Want I should report it this time?” She arched a mangled brow; Hot Rod shook her head.

“No, I’ll do it. Thanks for the offer.”

“No problem, Boss.” Gearbrake turned back to the frequencies she was monitoring, and Hot Rod left her to it.

Out in the harsh desert, Hot Rod took a moment to let her eyes adjust. The sun was unrelentingly bright, even under the giant tarps that stretched across Command. Blinking rapidly, she kept to the edge of the ‘door’frame, the world a giant explosion of white.

Inside, Gearbrake chuckled.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Hey,” Gearbrake said, innocent. “I didn’t say nothing. But just in case: I’ll see you in the all spark.”

Snorting, Hot Rod made her way over to the Captain’s tent, absently scraping off the tears from her cheeks. Sixteen months on this hell-hole didn’t compare to five-hundred years in the sewers; her (and Gearbrake’s, and the handful of other last-minute ‘volunteers’ desperate for a way off Cybertron as her surface grew toxic) eyes were still too damn sensitive.

“Captain,” she announced, knocking twice on the frame before ducking inside. “First Sergeant Hot Rod, Communications. Sir--” Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. “Sir, something’s happening at HQ; over the last four microcycles, Gunnery Sergeant Gearbrake and I have received several communiques reporting on suspicious activity around the camps. I think that we should have a squad ready to lay assistance as needed.”

The tent was dark, stifling. She could hear the tell-tale click of glass touching glass, the splash of liquid over ice; the cloying scent of shitty tar, blazing away. Schooling her features, she asked, impassive, “Sir?”

A long sip, a long puff, and then, finally, a response. “Don’t bother,” Captain ‘Shim drawled out, pausing to sip again at his drink. “I’m sure HQ is just...jumping at shadows again.”

“But sir--” she protested, knowing it wouldn’t do any good, but having to try anyway.

“Dis _missed_ , Private.”

Jaw clicking shut, Hot Rod spun and left the tent, her hands clenched so tight at her sides that she could feel them creak. Bypassing the Communications tent, she slogged her way over to the southern lookout point and threw herself down in the trench. “The twins back yet?” she asked, belly crawling until she was under the camoed tarp covering the surveillance tech.

Pulling back from a very battered set of binoculars, the lookout rubbed her eyes and snorted. “What do you think?”

Hot Rod ground her teeth together. “Great. They’re a half-hour over-due.” Nudging a broad, tanned shoulder, she snapped her own darkened bronze fingers imperiously. “Give.”

Dealer shot her a look, but handed over the binoculars nonetheless. “Shouldn’t you be in with Gearbrake right now?” she asked, flopping back along the sand. “Not that I mind the relief.”

“Yeah, well, you should look lively; been getting reports of suspicious activity all day.”

“No shit?” Dealer propped herself up on her elbows, garish mint jacket digging into the sand. “Fuck. What did the Captain say?” Hot Rod paused in cleaning the eye pieces and looked at her. “Fuck,” she sighed.

“Oi, Backbeat!” Hot Rod winced as she bellowed right in her ear. A plump, olive face with intelligent angled eyes appeared under an edge of the flap, black hair bristling across the rough tarp. “Yo.”

Dealer made a few curt gestures. “Hey, make sure everyone stays on their toes. Sarge’s orders.”

Backbeat saluted. “‘Kay.” She whipped away; Hot Rod listened to the lazily shouted orders and gripes as the whole squad moved into readiness.

“Were you expecting this when you signed up?”

She frowned. “Was I expecting what?”

“You know.” Dealer gestured around, a loose circle that encompassed everything in camp and beyond. “Hidebound stupidity, a slew of underlings, fresh air that doesn’t melt the skin from your muscles.”

“...Honestly,” Hot Rod said after a moment, her face scrunched. “I signed up for the three squares and free ride they promised me, so I guess I got what I asked for.”

“No shit.” Dealer shook her head. “You got screwed my friend.”

“Tell me about it.”

Dealer got up, folding herself into an easy crouch. “I should get up there,” she said, smacking Hot Rod on the shoulder. “You good?”

Hot Rod grunted. “Yeah,” she said, making herself comfortable in the sand. “I’m good.”

“Call if you need me.”

“Ah-yeah.” Shifting once more, she settled in, eyes glued on the horizon. It was peaceful, being on lookout; no responsibilities, no people to care for and manage, just the sun the sand and the wind. Inch by inch, Hot Rod found herself relaxing, just herself and nothing more and nothing less.

* * *

“You two took your sweet-ass time,” she said, eyes glued to her binoculars. Dislodging even more dirt from their skid into the trench, one of the twins snorted. “Did you at least find anything _useful_ out there, or did you get distracted by your own reflection again.”

“Oh, fuck you,” SunStreaker snarled. “Where’s the Captain? We have intel for him.”

“‘Shim is...” _blitzed out of his goddamn tiny, asinine mind_ “...indisposed,” she temporised. “I’m the next ranking officer, so actually, you report to me, dipshit. Which is why I asked if you found anything.”

“Nothing much,” SideSwipe cut in smoothly, “On the upshot, no sign of any big push; downshot, there are _definitely_ ‘Cons out there-- ‘Streaker and I saw what looked like a dust-up about two klicks west of here.”

Hot Rod lowered her binoculars. “What kind of dust-up?”

SunStreaker shrugged. “Dunno,” he said. “Some sort of power-play. What else do ‘Cons fight over?”

“Huh.” She gnawed on her lip, barely tasting the sand or the blood. “Well, seeing as I’m bored to fucking tears out here, why don’t you two show me this ‘dust-up’; if we’re lucky, the ‘Cons will do our job for us.

“Backbeat!” she barked. “You’re in charge; if the Captain deigns to grace us with his presence, tell him we went out to verify intel. Dealer, with me. Let’s go, kiddies.” Stowing the binoculars, she grabbed her gun and slogged her way up the sand.

Out of the blind and the tarps of command, the sun was brutal, white and hot and taking over seventy percent of the horizon. Backbeat saluted her once before turning back to the rest of the men, ordinance peeping out of every pocket on her vest. Dealer loped over easily, cover loose and around her neck. Pulling her own cover lower, Hot Rod arched a brow at the twins. “Well?”

“This way,” SideSwipe said, and they set off.

Thirty minutes later, SideSwipe held up a fist and dropped down. “Ravine,” she said softly, moving toward the edge. “They’re all down there, at the bend.”

“Oh good,” drawled SunStreaker. “Doesn’t look like we missed much in the millicycle we’ve been gone.”

Pulling out her binoculars, Hot Rod zoomed in on ravine, waiting out the lag as specks refocused into people. “I count thirty, thirty-five ‘Cons visible,” she murmured, slowly scanning. “Only three building-like objects. Imma wager a guess that they didn’t plan to stay here; the curls of electrical smoke I can see wisping over the stone supports it.” Pulling back, she looked at Dealer and arched a brow. “Reckon they crashed and are having out the usual ‘who’s-fault-is-it’ schtick?”

Dealer snorted and opened her mouth; a sharp crack cut off whatever she had been about to say and all heads whipped back to the canyon. Hot Rod whipped up her binoculars so fast she saw stars.

“Primus.” The ‘Cons, who had been in two equal-ish sized groups, were now scattered in clumps; some hiding, some not, but everyone firing. Everyone but a small handful in the middle who looked like they were restrained to the ground; as she watched, two dropped, blood spreading out only to sink instantly into the parched ground.

“Well, you did wish for the ‘Con’s to do our job for us,” Dealer murmured uneasily, watching the slaughter.

“Adaptus bless it, I didn’t really mean it.” Pursing her lips, she scrambled up to the edge and over, easily securing a foothold in the cracked rock. “Fuck it, I want some of this action; if we’re lucky, maybe one’ll feel extra warm and fuzzy for the rescue. Stay or come, up to you.” Not waiting, she flew down the cliff face, more of a controlled slide than a climb. Hitting the ground, Dealer only moments later at her back, she threw herself into the frenzy, a mad grin twisting her face.

“Hey,” she said, nodding a greeting at the ‘Con who’d startled at her sudden appearance, her arm already ignited and swinging before the ‘Con could raise her gun. Hooking a foot around an off-balance ankle, she forced the ‘Con to the ground and left her to burn, already moving on to the next. She put every bit of frustration and anger into taking out ‘Cons until she was eighteen deep and Dealer was nowhere to be found.

“Stupid move, Autobot scum,” spat one of the ‘Cons, a wicked knife whirling through the air.

She grinned. “Not really.” Feet and stance grounded, she let the fire always boiling under the surface ignite and roll out, an explosion of flame that left her safe and sound in the centre as all around her ‘Cons screamed as they burned alive.

When the fire shrunk to small sullen piles, she dropped her stance and rocked back on her heels, whistling. “Not bad, if I do say so myself. Clear!” she called out.

There was a slight pause, then the crack of a bullet. “Clear!” Dealer answered, jumping down from the top of the small shanty she’d obviously chose as her blind. “Damn, Hot Rod, overkill much?”

“Eh.” She shrugged, tucking her hands into her jacket pockets. “Not really.” Checking the line of prisoners, she swore. Six bodies bolted to the ground, every last one of them dead beyond question. “Well, this was a fucking waste,” she spat.

“Hot Rod!” Whirling, she pulled her side arm, but it didn’t matter. Dealer choked, a sand and blood encrusted arm clamped tight around her throat, her own side arm digging into her chin. A bright blue eye gleamed over Dealer’s shoulder. Reluctantly, Hot Rod let her gun drift down. “Hey now,” she cajoled, freeing a hand to raise up. “No need for that.”

The ‘Con snorted, visible eye rolling. “You’re the second group of people to try and kill me today,” she rasped, shifting Dealer higher. “Forgive my skepticism.”

“You were one of the prisoners?” Hot Rod asked, eyes wide. “How the hell did you escape?”

“Ain’t nothin’ made that can hold me, spitfire,” the woman drawled, twisting a raw and bleeding wrist. Dealer rocked back on her toes as the gesture choked off what little air she’d managed to get.

Hot Rod blanched, loosening her stance completely. “Circut-chaser?” she asked, incredulous. “What the fuck.”

“Touching...reunion...later,” Dealer wheezed, clawing at Deadlock’s arm. “‘Me go...now.” Deadlock released her and kicked her towards Hot Rod hard, both hands supporting the gun now; it wasn’t aimed at her, Hot Rod noted, bemused.

Dealer rubbed her throat. “Thanks,” she rasped, bitter.

Deadlock twitched her head. “Welcome. Whatcha doin’ here, spitfire? Thinking of finally joining the winning side? I gotta say, you look worlds better than the last time I saw ya.”

Her over the top leering pulled a laugh from Hot Rod’s chest. “Thanks,” she said brightly. “Wish I could say the same to you; you still look like shit.” Deadlock cackled, a wild, crazed thing that put Dealer further on edge and made Hot Rod grin toothier. “I’m afraid I’m gonna hafta disappoint you, though,” she said, pointing to the dour red face on her arm. “I already joined the winning team.”

“No shit.” Deadlock whistled, long and discordant. “The great Neutral leader finally took a side. Who talked you into that? Someone cuter than me?” she asked, pouting; despite the easy teasing, her gun never left its steady aim at Dealer’s chest. “You let your libido drag you into the wrong side, spitfire?” She clucked her tongue. “For shame.”

“Oh, yeah, they were _way_ cuter than you. More powerful, too. You know what they say: construction class’ll do anything for a little money and power.”

“Just tell me who I have to kill to get you at my side.” She was grinning, but her eyes were flat and cold.

“Well, seeing as your Megatron hasn’t had any luck killing her, I doubt you’ll succeed,” Hot Rod said dismissively. “You may be a crackshot, ‘chaser, but you’re no match for a Prime.”

“Bullshit,” Dealer rasped, rolling her eyes when both Deadlock and Hot Rod turned towards her. “The number of people Optimus Prime personally recruits is infinitesimally tiny. No way a neutral from Nyon gets the personal touch.”

“Hand to Primus,” Hot Rod swore, a hand in the air. “I was the last ‘Bot sworn in on Cybertron.”

“Well ain’t that somethin’.” Deadlock chuckled, low and familiar, and Hot Rod was back in those wide marble halls, just a grubbing starved terrorist making her girlfriend be the face of their cause so she didn’t have to.

“What the fuck are you _doing_ here?” she asked Deadlock, honest and baffled. Looking around, she added, “And what the hell happened?”

“Oh, you know,” Deadlock drawled, giving a little aborted shrug. “We crashed. There was a differing opinion on what we should do. Lockdown flew off in the only working pod--”

“Tsch,” scoffed Hot Rod. “Brass.”

“Brass,” Deadlock agreed, her lips quirking with the solidarity. “Tempers got steamy, someone made a threatening gesture, and suddenly: firefight.”

“Okay,” Hot Rod said, “but why were you tied up?”

Frowning, Deadlock looked down at the six dead ‘Cons between them. “We had a...differing idea of how to complete our mission,” she said, staring at the woman at the far end of the line; the woman, Hot Rod realised, was lying next to a pair of empty, bloodied shackles, her whole back side completely shredded from blasts and bullets. “Lockdown did not like that.” She laughed, that crazed jagged sound. “It’s funny, because his way would’ve gotten half of us killed; our way didn’t get anyone killed.”

 _Until he left, and everything went to hell,_ Hot Rod filled in. _And then we came along._ “And what mission was that?” she asked; the moment the words were out of her mouth, the ground started to quake, then rumble, then _roll_. Hot Rod blinked, staring right into Deadlock’s wide eyes. “You have _got_ to be kidding me,” she yelled, scrambling to keep upright as the ground flowed like an angry sea.

Deadlock stood bent over with her hands on her knees, laughing so hard she was choking. “Oh spitfire, what beautiful timing you have!” she cooed. “Now, how about you and your little friends let me go, and maybe--just _maybe_ \--some of your high command will still be alive.” Saluting with her gun, she sauntered away, her hips rolling easily with the waves.

“... _Shit_.” Shaking herself, Hot Rod managed to keep her footing as she fucking _flew_ over to the cliff face she’d slid down, Dealer right at her heels. “Let’s go let’s go let’s _go_ ,” she barked as she hit the top, urging the twins up and in front of her.

Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw Deadlock sitting at the top of the opposite canyon wall, watching her; when she saw Hot Rod was looking, she waved. Shaking her head, Hot Rod turned back to the ‘Bots in front of her and started to run.

They reached the base in a third of a time it had taken them to get to the wreck, running flat-out on the shifting dunes with an ease born of panic and necessity. “Backbeat!” Hot Rod hollered into her comm the moment they were in sight of the camp. “Get everyone ready, we move on HQ at my signal!”

“Rog--” Backbeat’s acquiesce was cut short by a slurred override.

“Ignore that, Private!” ‘Shim bellowed. “You will do no such thing! There is nothing wrong, we don’t have orders to move--”

“That’s because HQ is under attack _right now_ ,” Hot Rod interrupted, snarling. “Sergeant, gather the squad.”

“ _You cannot leave!_ ”

“Well, I would,” Backbeat drawled into the comms as Hot Rod, Dealer, and the Twins crossed the perimeter into camp. “But the Captain has seen fit to impede our progress. Bodily.”

“I see that.” Slowing, she stopped near Backbeat and stared at the ‘Shim.

“Move.”

“No!” His naturally waxy and florid face was an alarming shade of burgundy, his eyes bloodshot and bulging. “I, I fucking court martial all of you!” he stuttered, whipping his finger at everyone before him.

“Move,” Hot Rod ordered again, drawing her weapon, her finger oh so straight along the barrel. “Or I will shoot you. You are endangering the men of not only your own Company but also the Battalion.” Stepping closer, she rested her finger on the trigger. “Stand down, Captain, and let up do our fucking jobs.”

“I’ll see you hang for this,” he spat, eyes rolling as saliva splattered at his words. “I’ll fucking kill you myself, you Construction-class _bitch_ \--”

A roar of gunfire cut his tirade short, bullets ranging from true kill shots to wild spray ripping his body to pieces. “Roll him into the sand,” Hot Rod ordered, holstering her gun, fingers pressed hard above her eyes. “Mark it that Captain Glishimmer died in a Decepticon ambush on the way to support HQ.”

“Marked, Sarge.”

“Good.” She climbed into the bed of the nearest sand-vehicles. “Let’s move, people!” she bellowed, galvanising them into action. “I want us wheels up five microns ago! Dealer,” she said quieter, stopping the woman from moving off. “I want you with me; I want you at my back.”

“Aye, sir,” Dealer said, saluting crisply, throwing herself into the driver’s seat and revving the engine. “After this, I’m sure I won’t be the only one to tell you this, but I’ll follow you anywhere.” Along the sky, where the blinding blue was just starting to burn pink, Hot Rod watched the arcing trail of small ship breaking atmo. She cleared her throat.

“Yeah, well.” She crouched down over the back gun, checking the feed. “Let’s just get through this one first; we can worry about anywhere later.”

“Roger that.”

She slammed the assembly shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand that is simultaneously my favourite chapter and the last of my buffer. Wheeee. I've also now a full-time job and a cold, so I might not make the next schedule. I'm sorry in advance.

**Author's Note:**

> So for the first time in more years than I'd like to admit (although by saying years I'm already admitting a lot) I figured I'd try to do a story that exists in chapters, because you know, that's probably something I should be doing as a writer. So here's the first part; I've the next two parts after this fairly written out, but after that, not so much, but I am going to try and upload these fairly often, but knowing me, there's prolly going to be schedule slippage. Sorry in advance.
> 
> Title is from a quote by Abraham Lincoln "The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time."


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